Supper Time
by Glee Let Me Down
Summary: Series of one-shots over the course of a night. Blaine meets Kurt's grandpa. Quinn visits her father. Tina and Mike acknowledge their superiority. Sam makes a confession. Puck and Rachel talk about sex. Karofsky touches a boob!
1. Klaine

"Nothing says 'you're special'…" Blaine whispered in Kurt's ear, taking a paper plate off the stack at the end of the buffet table. "…stronger than Chinet."

Kurt giggled lightly. "…What…?"

"You're family really cares about self esteem." Blaine placed his free hand on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt's brow furrowed, and Blaine realized he was genuinely confused. "These plates are Chinet," Blaine held the paper plate in front of his boyfriend and pointed to the brand-name that was embedded in the middle of it. "…You don't remember those commercials…?"

Kurt blinked and shook his head. He patted Blaine on the shoulder. "You're special," He said, his eyes almost sympathetic. "What about that? Did I say it strongly enough for you?"

"Nope," Blaine shrugged dopily. "The plates still said it better."

The buffet line started moving, and Kurt became scooping potato salad onto his plate. He turned over his shoulder, still holding the ladle. "Hon, do you want some?"

"Yes please…"

As Kurt served Blaine, Finn came up behind them.

"Kurt. Your Grandpa's insisting that the three of us come eat with him on the patio."

Kurt raised his eyebrows skeptically. "…Oh…?"

Finn, who was already holding two loaded plates, said, "Hurry up. He's kind of scary and I'm not sure how I feel being alone with him."

Kurt's Grandpa Henry, his mom's dad, was a world war two veteran, and he didn't like to let anyone forget that. Although, Burt had told the boys with a smirk earlier that week that "veteran" was sort of an overstatement. Apparently Henry had shipped off to Europe a week before the end of the war, and never even fought. Physically, Grandpa Henry didn't seem like a military man. He was short, kind of like Blaine was short, and had delicate features, which Kurt had inherited. However, there was something intimidating about the stern and quiet way the man spoke that allowed Kurt to understand why Finn might be afraid of him.

"Hey Grandpa," Kurt said cheerily as he led Finn and Blaine out to the patio. The ninety-year-old man, still in excellent shape, shifted in his chair balancing his plate in his lap. He lifted his bony arms and opened them, inviting his grandson for a hug. Kurt put his food on an open chair and accepted it. "Oh goodness," The old man said quietly, holding tight. "You're so much like her…"

Grandpa Henry came to Lima once a year: his daughter's birthday. The late Mrs. Hummel was loved by a lot of people. When Kurt was ten, he and his father decided that they'd have a party for all those people. They figured just because she'd died didn't mean they still couldn't celebrate her life.

As Kurt let go of his grandfather and went to his seat, his mind wandered to the night, earlier that week, when he'd first told Blaine about the tradition.

Finn and Carole were out, and his Dad was still at the garage so the house was quiet. Kurt and Blaine lay on Kurt's bed facing each other, playing with each other's fingers but barely touching anywhere else. Kurt loved to kiss Blaine, and there were times he preferred a make-out session to anything else. But moments like that, where they just lay at ease, their voices hushed for almost no reason at all, studying each other's faces, were his favorite. Making out could be exhausting, but he could just lie there, looking at Blaine, forever.

"We don't really talk to my mom's family much," Kurt told him. "It might be a bit awkward this year; now that Dad's remarried."

"They knew he was dating, though, didn't they? It's been a long time. They couldn't have expected him to wait forever."

"I guess not." Kurt sighed. "I just hope they treat Finn and Carole okay. Like, I know no one will actually say anything, but I want Finn and Carole to feel included."

Blain inched forward and kissed his boyfriend lightly on the lips. "I love how much you care."

And all of a sudden, Kurt didn't feel like just lying there anymore. He caught a handful of Blaine's hair and kissed back forcefully, shoving his tongue into Blaine's mouth and pressing his fingers against his firm abdomen.

Sitting in front of his grandfather that weekend, Kurt quickly realized where his thoughts were about to take him, and knew that he had to think about something else, and quick. He cleared his throat. "You know, grandpa…Finn and I are in Glee club."

"Your mother was in choir, did you know that?" His grandpa told him. "You're taking after her."

"Finn's the co-captain, actually," Kurt continued, because he'd been the topic of conversation for seventeen years, and he felt that now the family should get to meet Finn.

His grandfather smiled politely, nodding at the taller boy. Then, he looked to Blaine. "Are you in this club with them?"

"Actually, I'm in another show choir. I go to Dalton Academy, actually. We compete against them."

"Really…" Grandpa Henry leaned back in his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth and chin thoughtfully. "Fraternizing with the enemy, now, are you?"

"Oh, well, I guess you could call it that…" Blaine and Kurt exchanged amused glances.

"How are you two friends then?"

Kurt was in mid-bite as his grandfather asked this question, and he chewed slowly, using the food in his mouth as an excuse to hesitate. Blaine and Finn both watched him unsurely, clearly trying to decide if they should speak for him.

_Friends_…he realized that's all Henry thought they were. But, he reminded himself, that wasn't the question that was being asked.

"I transferred to Dalton for a while," He told his grandfather uneasily. "For about five months, this past year."

"That seems a little impractical," His grandfather pointed out. "…that's not even a full year. Why would you change schools mid-year and not even stick to it?"

He didn't know what to say. Honestly, he hated when this topic came up. It was humiliating.

Finn saved him, "Kurt's um...grades were really good…and Dalton had um…"

Kurt jumped in, because he knew Finn's vocabulary wasn't advanced enough to convince his grandfather of anything. "It was an accelerated curriculum…it was better for me." He didn't look up from his plate. He was ashamed to be lying. "…But we had some insurance and um…tax issues…because of Dad's heart…It turned out we couldn't afford it."

"Well, your father should've called me," Henry scoffed surprisingly. "I would gladly pay your tuition. Dalton's an acclaimed learning institution and I would've been proud if I knew my grandson was attending. Now, transferring a third time might be a bit much, but if you'd consider letting me take care of it…"

"No!" Kurt spoke quickly. "It turned out I missed my friends. I mean, I'd like to spend senior year with them, you know..."

"Well, clearly your better friends with this boy from Dalton," His grandpa suggested. "I don't see any of your _public _school friends at this intimate family affair."

Blaine was grinning down at his plate; just grinning. Kurt had no idea why.

"Finn's here, isn't he?" Kurt tried.

But his grandfather said nothing.

* * *

><p>After they finished eating, the boys went into the kitchen to throw away their plates. Burt caught his son at the trash. "Hey, Kurt, why don't you do me a favor and take those bags out…"<p>

Kurt silently obeyed.

As he tied up the large plastic sacks, he had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He realized that it was guilt. He realized how gross he felt about hiding the truth. This was his mother's family, and he knew that his mother would want them to know the real him. But there were so many aspects of the conversation that just weren't worth getting into: Dalton especially.

As he lifted the trash bags into the big can, he heard the door into the house open behind him. He turned around to see Blaine shutting it.

"What are you…?"

"Shut up…" Blaine quickly advanced on him. He grabbed Kurt by the shoulders and twirled him ninety degrees, shoving him up against Burt's work bench. He attacked Kurt's lips, running his hands down the front of Kurt's linen shirt.

Kurt eventually pushed him away. "My entire extended family is right through that door, Blaine."

Blaine nodded dismissively as he undid the top button of Kurt's shirt and started nibbling at his collar bone. Kurt giggled, ticklish. "Seriously, Blaine…" He tried to protest as Blaine reached for the button of his pants. "Now, Blaine…seriously…?"

"Mhmmm,"

"Why…?" Kurt whined, although he didn't even begin to try to push his boyfriend away.

"I don't know," Blaine was getting to his knees. "The way you were with your grandpa. You seem…stressed…

When Blaine was finished, he helped Kurt with his pants. He stood up and leaned against the work bench next to him.

"So…maybe that wasn't right," He said, smiling goofily.

"Why…Do you want me to return the favor?"

Blaine actually paused to think about his answer, but then decided to be honorable. "No. I mean, maybe this is the part where I ask you if you want to talk about it. I mean, I don't want to be the guy who thinks I can solve every problem my putting your penis in my mouth."

Kurt rolled his eyes, trying not to tell himself that he might actually enjoy a relationship like that. But he realized that right now, talking would really help him.

"I don't want them to worry about me." Kurt told him. "I'm really…all that's left of her. I don't want them to feel sorry for me, or think of my life as some sort of tragedy. They're all going to ask about my life and so much about what's happened in the past year is just humiliating. I would hate it if they just felt sorry for me."

"Kurt…" Blaine's eyes filled with sadness. He reached out and pressed his palm against his boyfriend's cheek. Kurt tilted his head, pressing into it. He stroked Blaine's wrist and accepted his gentle kiss. "I know it's hard, but I know you're stronger than this."

"Whatever I say to them," Kurt said. "It's just going to be a conversation topic. It's going to distract from anything else that's actually important."

"But Kurt," Blaine started to reason. "They're going to ask the questions. That's inevitable. That doesn't mean you have to lie."

"I know…"

"Your mom would've wanted them to know her son: her real son…"

Kurt's eyes watered. He was touched by the fact that Blaine really understood. "…I know…" He choked.

"We'll be discreet," Blaine told him. "You can tell them things without getting into the mellow-drama. Actually, I'm sure they'll ask fewer questions if you're up front right away. I think your grandfather was trying to test you."

Kurt nodded. "You're right…"

Blaine sighed. "I'm always right," He feigned cockiness.

"Have I mentioned I love you?"

Blaine grabbed his boyfriends hand and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you too."

Kurt and Blaine snuck back into the house, both of them afraid of being caught by Burt and interrogated about what they'd been doing together in the garage.

"Well, well," Kurt's Aunt Abby, a tall brunette woman with a button-nose and rabbit-like teeth approached them, looking more than excited by their presence. "Kurt, I've been looking around here for you for just about forever…where did you run off to?"

"We were taking the trash out," Blaine offered smarmily.

Kurt exhaled audibly, then realized he was on the verge of laughter and bit down on his lip.

Abby examined Blaine carefully, her eyes narrowing. "Are you a friend of Kurt's from school?"

Kurt's heart skipped a beat, and then he decisively put his arm around Blaine. "Actually, this is my boyfriend, Blaine…"

A strange grin came over her face. "Oh. I was wondering…" She forced herself to think of something else to say. "How long have you two been together?"

Blaine grinned, looking at Kurt. "Well it was March, right…?"

"Yep," Kurt took Blaine's hand. "So, about three months now…"

"That's impressive for kids your age," She told them sincerely. "Well…I'm going to go over and say hi to Aunt Susan if you'll excuse me."

Blaine's eyes followed the woman as she scurried off.

"Why do I feel like she just won a bet?" Blaine leaned in and said quietly to Kurt.

Kurt sighed. "I'm assuming my sexuality has been speculated for years," He told his boyfriend. "Of course, now this is all they'll talk about for the rest of the day." So much for Finn and Carol feeling included; no one was going to even remember they were there now.

"Well," Blaine chuckled. "I'm sorry to be causing uproar..."

Kurt gave Blaine a soft nudge. "It's worth it to be able to show you off."

Suddenly, Finn marched up to them, a scandalous grin on his face.

"Hey guys…" He said slowly and knowingly, walking in between them and putting an arm around each of their shoulders. "…what were you two doing in the garage for so long?"

"Shut up, Finn," Kurt said tersely.

Just seconds later, a voice snapped at him from across the kitchen. "Kurt!"

It was Grandpa Henry. He looked mad. Kurt marveled about how fast news had traveled.

"Hey Grandpa," He said nervously.

"Can you come over here for a moment?"

Blaine gave him a tight lipped smile of encouragement. He smiled back then went over to the old man.

Henry placed a withered and frail hand on his grandson's shoulder. Kurt held his breath as he waited for the man to speak.

"Does he treat you right, Kurt?" The man asked. Kurt realized that he was gesturing to Blaine. He felt his cheeks flush.

"Yeah, Grandpa," Kurt said. "He's pretty incredible."

"Hold on to him then," He gave Kurt a little shake. "I can tell he's one of the special ones."

"Yeah," Kurt nodded. Blaine had caught him staring and was smiling lovingly across the room. "He's really special."


	2. Quinn

"It's big," Quinn stated simply. She examined the house that stood in front of her, pressing her lips together and holding tightly onto the large Tupperware container that her sister had handed her just moments before.

"You know Daddy!" Caroline replied breathily. "He doesn't do well in cramped spaces."

"Right…" Quinn hesitated. "I remember." She remembered a lot of things about her father. Suddenly she was hit by an overwhelming wave of panic. "I don't know if I can do this."

"Don't be stupid, Lucy," Her sister snapped. "You're lucky Daddy invited you. You shouldn't be rude."

Lucy. Caroline was the only person who still called her that. She'd been stubborn when Quinn had first decided to change her name. She said she'd gone fourteen years calling Quinn "Lucy", and calling her anything else would be like altering the English language; like changing the words for water or air. She said there was no way she could ever be comfortable calling her sister Quinn. She absolutely refused.

Caroline had never shown any sympathy for Quinn back when she used to get picked on. Quinn was much younger than Caroline, and knew that her sister was too wrapped up in her own magical life to care. Throughout her childhood, Quinn watched her sister win beauty pageants and wear fabulous clothes and go out on a date with a new boy every weekend. She'd always told herself that she would never be able to have a life as wonderful as her sister's. The worst part was that she knew her entire family looked at her, the chubby little girl with a bump in her nose, and thought the exact same thing.

At one point, she really thought that she was proving Caroline, and everyone else, wrong. But she could tell nowadays by the way that Caroline looked at her; like she was some pathetic, impoverished soul; and called her "Lucy" in that nauseatingly condescending tone, that she hadn't proven her wrong: not in the slightest bit. Caroline looked at her and saw a chronically single girl with a body weathered by an unintended pregnancy. She saw the lesser-loved child; the one she had beaten in every aspect for their father's affection. Caroline didn't care about whether or not Quinn was rude to their father. She wanted Quinn around because it did something for her ego. Quinn was sure of that.

"Come inside, Lucy," Caroline told her, sighing as if it were some terrible task to be in her presence. She gestured to the Tupperware. "Be careful with that mousse-cake. Daddy's really looking forward to it."

Quinn fought the urge to drop it…no…throw it at the ground with impeccable force.

Their father opened the front door; his face was stone. Quinn held her breath. "Hello, Lucille…"

She suddenly felt like crying. He hadn't called her by her birth name since she asked him not to, three years earlier. She felt ganged up on, like her father and sister were letting her know that neither of them had any respect left for her.

"No Evan tonight?" He asked Caroline.

"He's in Boston on business. I told you that Daddy,"

He kissed the older girl on the cheek. "You know how my mind works, Carrie: A thousands thing in and a thousand things out every second…"

Quinn noticed him glancing at her. It was quick, and then he averted his eyes. He didn't even want to look at her. Why had he asked Caroline to bring her here?

Suddenly there was a fourth body in the foyer. It was a petite brunette woman in a sundress and stilettos. She was standing there expectantly with her hands behind her back.

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"This must be…" The woman began. She had a southern drawl, and Quinn wondered if her father had found this woman, whoever she was, on the internet.

"…Lucy," Caroline finished the sentence for her. Quinn didn't know why her sister felt qualified to introduce the two of them. "Lucy, this is Evelyn."

The look Evelyn gave Quinn as she extended her hand for a shake was unreadable. She seemed unsure, almost, of whether or not she actually wanted to touch Quinn. Quinn mimicked her expression as she took her hand. It was kind of slimy. Evelyn was clearly the type of woman who used way too much lotion; probably due to some unhealthy obsession with having perfect skin.

"Your timing is perfect," She told the girls, although she said it like, "Yuh tahmin is puhfect."

She had to be faking it, Quinn thought. She was like a character out of "The Notebook" or. Nobody actually talked like that anymore.

"Yes, Dinner's just going on the table. We tend to eat fairly early these days."

We…

"Oh, I know," Caroline nodded, turning toward Quinn and smiling for some unknown reason.

As the three Fabrays sat down at the table that was, for the most part set, Evelyn took the Tupperware container from Quinn and shuffled into the kitchen. She emerged moments later with a tray of pot roast.

"This woman is incredible," Their father warned them. "After trying her cooking, you'll never go back."

"Is that the only reason why you're holding onto her?" Caroline asked cheekily.

Quinn watched her father go to Evelyn and put his arm around her. "Who says I'm holding onto her?" He challenged.

Caroline sighed. "I saw the ring, Daddy," She said boredly. "It's not exactly discreet."

Quinn's eyes traveled to Evelyn's left hand. Sure enough, a large diamond was overpowering it.

"Oh my god…" She looked down at her empty plate. She didn't know how to react. To be honest, she had actually been having trouble reacting to her father in general.

"Lucille…" Now her father was talking to her. She looked up at him, biting her lip and working hard to keep calm. "I've made some mistakes, and in time I hope to correct them. In the mean time, I would really like you to be at my wedding."

So that's the only reason he had asked her here today. It seemed sort of selfish about her. This was about him, somehow. "You'd really look like a jerk, wouldn't you?" She said slowly and quietly. "If you told your guests the truth about why your little girl wasn't there?"

"Lucy, don't be silly,"

"Don't call me Lucy, Dad," She snapped. "I've always hated that stupid name!"

"I love that name, honey," He said. He'd let go of Evelyn, who was just watching the fight uncomfortably. Quinn felt sort of sorry for the woman. She wondered what story her father had told her. "And I love you…" Her father tried.

"You don't love me, Dad," She was shaking. Tears came to her eyes. "If you loved me, you wouldn't have thrown me out of the house. If you loved me, you would've shown a little bit of concern when I was moving from place to place taking charity from whosever parents actually cared enough to help me."

"Honey, your father regrets the things he did…" Evelyn jumped in. Quinn was instantly furious for the woman.

"Do you even know my father!" She shouted.

"Lucille, honey, you need to calm down."

"Here I thought you just wanted to see me…" Quinn sneered. "Caroline; even mom went on and on about how it took guts for you to reach out after all that we've been through. But this isn't about our relationship, Dad. This isn't about forgiveness. This is about you and your constant need to look good. And I need to come to your wedding, right? I need to be there so that you look like a good guy who cares about your daughter. You know what? No. No, I'm not going to give you that satisfaction."

She jumped out of her seat.

"Where are you going?" Her father barked at her.

Quinn just glared at the couple. "I hope you enjoy his money, Evelyn, since I'm sure that's the only reason you're with him in the first place."

She stormed out, slamming the front door behind her on her way.

That's when she realized that Caroline was her ride home.

Quinn crumbled into a fit of sobs. She fell down and sat on the edge of her father's front step and let her hot tears stream down her face. She did nothing to wipe them away. She decided that she didn't care how long Caroline took inside. She didn't care if they were just waiting for her to get over herself and return civilly to the table. She was not going back in there. She couldn't. It hurt too badly.

Suddenly, the door opened behind her. She didn't look.

"Quinn…" It was Caroline's voice. Quinn couldn't read her tone. She knew her sister was about to try to talk some sense into her. She knew that she was about to present some half-baked argument to get her back inside so that she could watch the war between Quinn and her father and bathe in the happiness that it was Quinn and not herself.

"Save it, Caroline," Quinn said weekly.

There was a long silence. Quinn sniffed. Caroline's heels clicked as she stepped closer to her sister. "Well…we tried…"

And then Quinn looked up at her, surprised. She didn't know what her sister meant and searched for clues in her face. "I'm sorry…?"

"I completely understand why you're feeling the way your feeling, Quinn." She said. "Today's just not the day for you and Dad."

Caroline stepped past her sister and started down the front walk toward the driveway. After a few steps, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. "Are you coming or what?"

A surge of gratefulness came over Quinn as she stood up and followed her sister to the car.


	3. The Brainiacs

"Brittany…no…" Mike was the first to say gently.

"What?" Brittany's eyes darted back and forth. "I knew everyone else was going to say 'nose', and I didn't want to risk the point."

"Brittany," Tina sighed. "Nail polish is not a body part."

"Well then, what is it?" Brittany asked defensively. "It's not an accessory because you can't take it off and put it on your nightstand like a headband."

"Guys, give her the point," Artie said boredly. "She could've easily put down 'nails'."

"No!" Brittany said tonelessly. "I don't want your pity points. I want to get the point I deserve for what I put down."

"But Brittany…" Tina repeated. "Nail polish is not a body part."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "Then what is it…?" She mumbled, frustrated. She shook her head down at her Scattegories clipboard and Artie reached over and patted her comfortingly on the back. Sensing his hand on her, she looked up and instinctively recoiled. Then, she stood up and said, "I need Orange drink. I'll be right back."

Brittany jumped off the couch. Tina and Mike exchanged knowing glances. What would happen next was obvious. Mike stuck his fingers up to count down. Three…two…one…

"I'll help you!" Artie wheeled after her, Mike and Tina's eyes following him.

"Well…this is awkward…" Mike said simply once their friends were out of ear-shot. He leaned over the coffee table and grabbed a slice of Pizza from the open box.

"It's only awkward if we make it awkward," Tina told him.

"So do you suggest we just sit here and pretend like nothing's changed?"

"They're our friends, Mike," Tina smiled warmly. "They were our friends before they broke up, and they'll both be our friends even when they're married and living on separate coasts."

"He thinks they're getting back together," Mike informed Tina anxiously. "He said he was going to talk to her tonight…"

"Well, maybe he won't do it…" Tina grabbed her boyfriend's arm and spoke optimistically. "Maybe instead he'll convince himself that there's some external reason she doesn't want him and come up with an elaborate scheme to get her back that will ultimately fail."

"That _is_ why he joined the football team," Mike remembered.

"Yeah, and even in a jersey he could never pull me away from you…"

Mike leaned over and kissed his girlfriend sweetly. He didn't even care that his breath smelled like pepperoni.

"Artie…stop," Brittany was snapping as she stomped back into the room, a soda in her hand. Artie trailed behind her, a hungry look in his eyes.

Tina and Mike pulled apart. "Told you…" Mike mumbled.

"Does anybody want more Pizza?" Tina plastered on a smile and gestured hospitably to the boxes in front of her, hoping the offering would be a successful distraction.

"Yes," Brittany nodded quickly, getting on her knees and grabbing her plate from the corner of the table. She was obviously avoiding looking at Artie.

"Brittany…please…" He wheeled closer to her. "Just two minutes. I promise you, you won't regret it."

Tina and Mike frowned at each other, both of them realizing how miserable Artie looked.

"Artie, I told you…" Brittany said, slapping a slice of sausage-and-mushroom on her plate. "There isn't anything left to talk about."

"Just answer my question…" He urged. "Then I won't bother you again for the rest of the summer."

"Are you dating her now?"

Brittany dropped her plate on the table and finally looked at him, her nostrils flaring. "It wouldn't make a difference if I was…" She shrugged.

"So you are…"

She let out a cry of frustration and flew to her feet. "Oh my god…"

"Britt. I have to know." Artie said pathetically. "It's killing me."

She blinked down at him, her face flat. "I thought you said we could be friends."

"We are friends," Artie said gently, reaching for her hand. She jumped away.

"No. We aren't. Friends respect each other."

"And I respect you!"

Brittany rolled her eyes, and turned away from him. "I can't do this."

"Brittany…"

She started walking away. "I'm sorry, Chang-squared. You've been lovely hosts but I'm not really in the mood for game night anymore."

"Brittany…come on…" Tina tried. The other girl didn't respond.

And then she was gone.

The remaining three friends sat in silence for several moments before Artie let out a long sigh and said, "Well, I'm not going to stay here and be a third wheel."

"You wouldn't be…" Tina said, although she knew how awkward it would be if he stayed there alone with her and Mike. Even if she tried to pretend it wouldn't be awkward, there was no escaping the discomfort that came with being alone in a room with the only two boys she had ever dated.

"Come on, Bro, I'll help you to your car," Mike sighed.

Tina waited on the couch for her boyfriend to return.

"So much for game night," She said lightly when he did.

Mike plopped down next to his girlfriend and let out an overwhelmed sigh. He turned his head to face her, and then kissed her on the cheek. She grinned, her eyes crinkling up and her teeth exposing themselves in a way that always made Mike's heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," He said to her.

She giggled. "For what…?"

"For being level-headed…and, you know, emotionally stable."

"And thank you," Tina replied. "For your abs…"

Mike rolled his eyes boredly. "Nice."

"I'm joking, Mike," She placed a hand on his chest and put her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her. "You're pretty emotionally stable yourself."

"I don't envy them," Mike told her surely. "All that drama… there are times that I think you and me are the only two people at school who manage to avoid it."

"I guess we're just superior to everyone else," Tina said playfully, burying her face in his neck.

"Definitely…" Mike nodded. "No question."


	4. Samcedes

Mercedes dropped her Rubbermaid cooler onto the grass right next to a tall tree that she would never admit was her favorite tree ever. The branches were wide and sprawling; perfectly spaced for climbing. She had known this tree, at her favorite park in Lima, since she was four-years-old, and for years she'd fantasized about sharing a romantic picnic under it with a guy she was crazy about. She thought that Sam might find her determination to eat under a particular tree kind of lame, so she'd kept her wishes to herself and merely suggested "dinner in the park".

"Oh, this place seems nice," She said calmly. Sam nodded almost complacently. He hadn't actually said much since she picked him up, and she was beginning to wonder if something was wrong.

Sam took the large cotton blanket that he'd had folded under his arm and spread it out on the ground in front of him. The couple sat down and Mercedes began to empty out the contents of the cooler.

"Now, I know you're not big on, you know, actual food…" Mercedes said sweetly. "But my mom makes _the _best fried chicken and I think you should try it: even if it's just a bite." She thrust one of her gallon-sized Ziploc baggies at him, and then reached for the next one.

"That's great," Sam said. He wasn't making eye contact. "But I'm not sure I can stomach it."

"That's okay," Mercedes said, working her hardest to stay cheerful. "My mom made some plain chicken and rice for you."

"Thanks…" Sam mumbled. "I mean…" He forced himself to smile at the girl he was dating. "I mean, thank your mom for me. She didn't have to do that."

Mercedes nodded awkwardly, leaning back and extending her legs in front of her. "Sam…you okay?" She asked quietly, because she could just tell something was up with him.

"I actually…I need to talk to you about something…"

There was a long silence, and Mercedes' palms began to sweat. She almost regretted choosing this tree: a tree that had meant only good things to her for so many years. Was she going to start to hate it? "Go on…" She wiped her hands on her jeans and blinked interestedly at Sam.

"You're great, Mercedes," Sam began. Mercedes leaned her head back and looked up at the branches of the tree. She prepared herself to say goodbye to it, because she was definitely about to be dumped. "You're, like, nicer to me than anyone else I've ever dated. You're like…I don't know how to put this…um…nurturing…"

Mercedes pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. It would be a lie to say she wasn't confused. "There's a 'but' here, isn't there?" She asked him boredly.

He shook his head. "No. Not really. That's exactly it. I really like how different you are, and how you make me feel, like, good…and stuff."

Mercedes flashed him a small, nervous smile. "You make me feel good too." She told him genuinely, nodding slightly.

"The thing is…" Sam continued. Mercedes exhaled, frustrated. He said there wasn't a 'but' but a 'the thing is' wasn't much different. "You know, I like you, and that's why I feel so much worse about hiding anything from you."

"You don't have to hide anything from me," Mercedes said, trying to sound sweet, but a little too anxious for Sam to get to the point to really be convincing.

"You know…I really like girls,"

"Duh," She said, almost rudely. Sam hesitated and gave her a weird look, and she narrowed her eyes and gave him a false smile of encouragement.

"The thing is, Mercedes, I'm not exactly…only into _girls_."

"Well that's not a problem. I'm what you call a natural woman…" Mercedes stated sassily, patting Sam on the knee. She wasn't sure if she seriously felt that way about herself or if she was using playful cockiness as a defense mechanism.

Sam chuckled nervously. "I'm sure you are," He told her. "But, I mean…I like…um…boys too."

Of course… This would happen to her. She couldn't even say that the possibility of Sam being gay hadn't crossed her mind as she lay in bed at night, wondering if what she'd started with him in New York was too good to be true. After all, his sexuality had been speculated constantly since his arrival at McKinley. No one had ever really thought that he was anything but "undetermined". Now, as they sat under her favorite tree, he was blinking worriedly at her, waiting for a reaction. All that went through her head were memories of her smashing the windows of Kurt's SUV sophomore year…

"Oh…" She said slowly, working her hardest to form words but struggling none-the-less. "Well…that's cool…"

"It freaks you out, doesn't it?" Sam asked quickly. "I know it's a lot to take in. I was just really hoping you'd understand."

His face was solemn and innocent. There was a hint of a pleading look in his eye but he kept it to a minimum, as if he didn't want to pressure her into doing or saying anything she didn't want to do. His face: it almost made her crumble into his arms, telling him everything was going to be okay between them. He just looked sad and sweet; almost helpless. But Mercedes told herself not to accept this so easily. Something about the situation made her weary.

"Look, Sam," She said. "I'm not going to stick around just because I look good on your arm. I'm not anybody's beard."

Sam licked his lips, his brow furrowing, "No. Mercedes…I promise it's not like that."

"Look…" Mercedes was trying to keep her head level; she really was, but so many things were racing through it that it was impossible. "Sam, you're obviously very confused."

"No, I'm not!" Sam snapped. "I hate it when people say that to me."

"Who else knows?" Mercedes asked. She could see this being one of those situations where everyone in Glee ganged up to keep a secret from one of the other members. She'd never been the last to know something before. The concept horrified her. There was no way Sam was dragging her down to the same level as Rachel Berry.

"Well, I mean…I was kind of open about it at my old school…" He admitted. "And I told Kurt a long time ago."

"Kurt knows!" How could he not tell her? How could he just leave her to fend for herself?

"I mean, I told him…but he was actually kind of rude about it." Sam said bitterly. "He told me that 'bisexual' is a word gay jocks throw at their naïve trophy girlfriends so they can still ask for a second chance after cheating on them with guys."

"Oh." Mercedes had turned her head away from Sam, and was watching a group of kids running around on the distant play-structure. She couldn't look at him without him being able to tell what she was really thinking. She knew her doubtfulness showed on her face. Honestly, she agreed with Kurt, although she didn't want to admit it seeing how she was still furious with him for not sharing such a crucial piece of information.

"You're freaked out…" Sam leaned forward, trying to see her face. "Look, we can break up right now, if that's what you want?"

He was being too nice. She didn't want to look like a bitch. Maybe, if anything, she could convince him that he was blind to himself. "So...you remember Blaine…" She started wryly. "You know, the love of Kurt's life; can't keep his hands off him; becomes visibly uncomfortable anytime any body part that is exclusively female is mentioned…yeah: He went out with Rachel."

"That was an entirely different situation!"

"Was it?" Mercedes asked.

"God! Yes!" Sam shouted. His sudden anger startled Mercedes, and she instantly felt guilty. "Mercedes, I'm serious…if you don't want to accept this about me, don't! It's really simple; either you want to keep seeing me in spite of everything, or you want to walk away and pretend New York never happened."

And that's when the reality hit her. She and Sam had been having so much fun together. She definitely didn't want to go back to sitting home alone on Saturday nights while Kurt and Rachel and Tina all went out with their fabulous boyfriends. She didn't need a man to complete her, but she enjoyed Sam's company. Something in her gut told her that at this point, he wouldn't settle for just being friends.

Maybe he was really "bisexual". The concept seemed weird to her, but maybe she had to trust him. She realized, reading the agonized expression on his face, that he genuinely thought that what he was telling her was the truth, and it was killing him that she wouldn't accept it. It was at that point that she made the decision: she would stay with him and help him figure things out. It would be better than it he hadn't told her anything at all. She couldn't imagine what would happen if he made a declaration of homosexuality without any warning at all.

Mercedes took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. "I don't want to break up with you Sam."

He wasn't ready to relax yet. "Are you sure?"

Mercedes nodded. "I'm sure…"

Sam finally had his moment of relief.

Mercedes decided that it was time to change the subject. She didn't see why this was anything they had to discuss at length. "So…Are you ready to eat?

He nodded seriously down at the blanket, and then reached for the cooler, digging around for his special, non-fat meal.

Mercedes reached for her bag of fried Chicken and scooted back to lean against the trunk of the tree as she ate.


	5. Puckleberry

Puck walked into the familiar diner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans. Stella's face lit up as she saw him approaching the counter.

"It's been a while, Noah!" She exclaimed, marching toward him with a pot of decaf coffee in her hand. She then stood on her toes to examine the top of his head. "You still haven't shaved that thing?"

He ran a hand over his Mohawk, giving the young waitress a dark grin. "Are you kidding me? The hair is what gives me the edge; makes me the stud I am…well, that and I play guitar…"

Stella giggled like a crazed schoolgirl. "You would, wouldn't you?"

Puck shrugged, sighing in acceptance of his uncontrollable charm.

"So where's that girlfriend of yours?" Stella asked, going to set her pot down.

"Lauren's home with the flu,"

She pulled out a rag from what seemed like midair and started doing circles with it on the counter as Puck sat down. "Do you want me to package up some soup for you to take her?"

"Naw, I was just over there," Puck told her as he watched her wipe. "There's no way I'm going to expose myself to those germs again. I do not do well with illness."

It was clear that the counter was already spotless, and Puck knew she was only bothering to "clean" it again as an excuse to talk to him. Sometimes, he baffled himself with his own ability to attract women. Sometimes, he honestly believed that it was a god-given gift. There was no other way to explain it. In a sense, his natural bad-assed-ness was one of the things that kept him believing in god. "Well, what can I get you?" She asked him.

"Just bring me the kosher special," Puck told her. It was what he always got. That's the only reason he came here: a Jewish family owned the place so he felt like he owed them his business.

As Stella retreated into the Kitchen, Puck reached forward and began to fidget with the nearby salt and pepper shakers. Suddenly, he was distracted by a very familiar voice.

"I just want a side of mashed potatoes, but could you ask to prepare them with soy milk instead of cream?"

"Of course…"

Puck turned in his stool to watch Rachel Berry hand her menu over to the other waitress: Stella's sister, Hannah. Rachel was in a booth by herself, undoubtedly abandoned by Hudson, who probably had some sort of imperative Halo tournament to attend to instead of taking his girlfriend out for a proper meal. Puck decided that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer her some company.

As Puck made his way to the booth, he realized that Rachel was slumped over something. As he got closer, he could see over her shoulder and noticed that she was reading some sort of magazine that included a photograph of a half-naked male model with his thumbs tucked into the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Rachel was highlighting something on the page and had a stack of post-its beside her. He could only assume that she was reading for research; not for fun. A goofy smile crept over his face.

"Rachel Berry, are you reading Cosmo?"

Her head slowly raised a startled and horrified expression on her face as she turned to look at her choir-mate. "Noah!" She scrambled to roll up the magazine and shove it in the large purse that was sitting beside her. Puck came around and sat across from her.

"Come here often?" He wiggled his eyebrows.

Rachel rolled her eyes. He knew she was trying to pretend that she didn't want him there, but that was what she always did. He knew that somewhere deep down she reciprocated his inexplicable fondness of her, but it's not like he would even back off if she didn't.

"Yes, actually, I come here when I want a stress-free dining experience. They're very nice about specializing orders, and I maintain an overwhelmingly specific diet."

"Right," Puck nodded. "You're like…a vegetarian or whatever…"

"Vegan," Rachel corrected, sitting up a little straighter and folding her hands on the top of the table. Puck rolled his eyes. Same difference… "What about you, Noah? Do you come here often?"

Puck shrugged. "I guess you could say that."

"I'm surprised we haven't bumped into each other here before..."

Puck decided he was done with the small talk. He leaned back in his seat and asked, "So what's with the post it notes? Writing a thesis on sex positions?"

Rachel averted her eyes, trying to keep her composition as she shifted uncomfortably. "No…I…I was just reading for fun."

"Since when is highlighting fun…?" Puck was beaming uncontrollably. It was beyond fun to watch Rachel Berry squirm. "Does Finn know that you're doing research on how to keep him happy in the sack?"

"The conversations Finn and I have in private are really none of your business," Rachel scolded.

"Holy crap: it's finally going to happen!" Puck exclaimed. "Two years of will-they-won't-they and you two are finally gunna make the monkey with two backs!"

"Would you keep it down?" Rachel hissed, running a hand over her hair and looking around to make sure no one was nearby listening. "I never said we were."

"Seriously…? Does he know about this?"

"Seriously," Rachel's eyes widened as she nodded, leaning forward in her seat. "It's just a…silly magazine."

"You know, if you have any questions or concerns I'd be happy to help you out,"

"Let me guess: you teach by demonstration only?" Rachel rolled her eyes.

"Whoa! Cut me a break! I'm in a committed relationship now!"

"Mhmmm," Rachel hummed, unconvinced.

"Honestly. I thought we were friends."

Rachel sighed. "Well. I do have one question," She got a worried look in her eye as she started speaking more quickly. "But you have to promise that everything we discuss here remains entirely off the record."

"I'm going to agree to that," Said Puck, "But understand that I'm liable to tell Lauren and depending on what you say, we may or may not laugh behind your back for a good couple of weeks."

Rachel just ignored him and bit the bullet. "How, um, _good_ is Santana? I mean, if you had to compare her to say…Lauren or Quinn who you actually had feelings for."

A distant expression suddenly came over Puck's face as he reminisced. "Oh Santana…She was crazy…" He realized he was grinning, and forced himself to stop. "I mean, I'm sorry. It must be tough to know that you'll be compared to Santana. I guess now you know how Artie feels."

Rachel just blinked at him. "You're not really helping, Noah."

Suddenly, Stella showed up at the booth and dropped their plates in front of them. She didn't say a word or even make eye-contact with either of them. Rachel's mouth gaped as she watched the woman walk away, almost pouting?

"What's her problem?" Rachel asked incredulously.

"Oh, her…?" Puck sighed. "She gets weird when she sees me with girls. She asks about my love life, and acts like she's fine but whenever I actually bring someone in here, it's like she'll never forgive me…It's probably because we had sex."

Rachel nodded, knowing she should've figured it out on her own. "Nice, Puckerman…That's really nice. I'm actually kind of surprised that there's still a girl left on this planet that _hasn't_ slept with you."

"You mean…you…?" He said playfully. Rachel sighed and dug her spoon into her potatoes. Puck chuckled. "I can't believe you're finally going to do it! Have sex…I mean…In general. I never thought that Finn Hudson, of all people, would be the one to de-prude you."

"How many times do I have to tell you that a bit of premature research does not mean I'm planning on jumping his bones immediately the next time I see him."

"But you're thinking about it," Puck said knowingly. "You're seriously thinking about it. I've been with enough virgins to know it's a slippery slop from there."

Rachel stared uneasily down at her potatoes. "Well. I'm in love with Finn."

"Well, I feel pretty stupid now," Puck admitted. "If I would've known that the whole thing about you waiting to have sex until after you got your Tony was just a gimmick, I would've worked a lot harder to call your bluff."

"I'll say it again: I'm _in love_ with Finn…" She sounded more confident as she repeated it.

"And you're planning on sleeping with him because you think you'll be together forever and it will happen eventually, right?" He asked knowingly. Rachel's face didn't change. "Or, are you planning on sleeping with him because you _want _to be with him forever and think that it'll help."

Rachel exhaled heavily. She shoved a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Once she swallowed, she looked at Puck who was watching her with creepy intensity. "What do you know?" She asked weakly.

"I've been with a lot of girls," He shrugged bluntly. "I've figured out how their minds work."

"And you still treat them the way you do,"

"Like I told you," Puck sighed. "I'm in a committed relationship now. I'm a changed man!"

"It's only a matter of time before you relapse, Puckerman," Rachel shook her head slowly, challenging him.

Puck rolled his eyes. "And it's only a matter of time before you burn those issues of Cosmo and realize that you're ever only going to sleep with one person and god be damned if it's Hudson."

Rachel sighed, defeated. She smiled strangely, knowing she couldn't argue with Puck. She always lost; even if she was right. She smashed down her pile of potatoes with the bottom of her spoon, trying to avoid the triumphant smirk he was wearing.

"Oh my god," She finally huffed. "Stop starring at me and eat your…whatever the hell that is!"

Puck picked up his fork and examined the plate in front of him. "It's the kosher special."


	6. Santofsky

"I'm out of fries," Santana said with her mouth full. "Are you gunna eat all of yours?"

"Why don't you chew the ones in your mouth first?"

She finished chewing and swallowed. "I wasn't asking for them immediately." She whined defensively. "That just happened to be when I was feeling the question."

Karofsky thrust his half-finished fries at her and took a loud slurp from his super-sized diet coke.

"Wow," Santana commented on the noise. "That's attractive."

"Shut up!" Karofsky snapped. "It's a hell of a lot hotter than 'see food'."

Santana let out a single, mean laugh. "Everything I do is hot. I could be in an ill-fitting jump-suit, knee deep in human waste and strange men would still offer to pay me to take my clothes off."

Dave sipped thoughtfully. "Do guys do that?"

"Yeah… You know, there are some intelligent men in this world who understand that there's really no downside in asking for the things you want," Santana shrugged.

Dave nodded, and turned to look out his window.

They were in the parking lot of the local Forrest preserve, sharing a meal in the front seat of the previously-owned Honda his parents had handed him the keys to earlier that night.

"Break it in; Take it through a drive-through," His dad had practically demanded.

"But you two better behave," His mother added playfully. "Have a little class and stay out of the back seat."

"Are you suggesting I keep my hands _off_ him?" Santana cried, wrapping her arms around his wide torso. He lifted a hand and patted her on the top of his head, catching an encouraging grin from his father.

"I trust you, David. Just be home by midnight."

He'd expected Santana to demand that he take her home the second they were out the front door. Instead she turned to him with a half-smile and said. "You promised me a free dinner. And I don'ts takes promises lightly."

So now they were here, in the empty parking lot, just yards away from what reminded Karofsky of the forbidden forest from Harry Potter. Because it was the height of summer, there was still a hint of daylight in the sky above them. They took their time eating, but avoided looking at each other or making any sort of productive conversation. Dave knew the real reason she'd come out with him. It was the same reason she'd shown up at his house in the first place, and it had nothing to do with free food. Santana felt sorry for him. She didn't want his parents to know that he was a social pariah. She didn't want him to be alone on his birthday. It touched David, almost, to know that there was actually a kind bone in Santana Lopez's hard, enviable body.

Santana shoveled his fries into her mouth. He didn't mind that she'd taken them. He hadn't had much of an appetite lately. Anyway, he wanted her to have what she wanted tonight. He felt he owed that much to her.

"Thank you, Santana," He told her.

Her chewing slowed as she looked blankly at him, "For what…"

"For hanging out with me tonight…" There was a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn't really like that she was making him get all specific.

"Ah," Santana reached for her own soda and slipped the straw through the corner of her mouth. She drank quickly then said, "Well, it's like I said, I'll do anything for free food."

He frowned down at the steering wheel. Part of him wished that she would just admit she cared about him. He knew exactly why she did. They were practically the same person. She was the only person with any empathy to offer him. That being said, it should've been easy for him to understand her hesitancy to be nice to him.

The silence in the car was starting to get to him. As much as he hadn't wanted to sit alone in his car until curfew, which is what he'd been planning on doing that night, he was starting to realize that maybe that would be less awkward than being alone with Santana. He had to make conversation.

"You know, my dad thinks we're having sex,"

"Yeah…You're welcome," Santana rolled her eyes. "He also probably thinks his son has some mad skills in the sack, because that's the only way a guy like you would ever get a girl like me in real life."

_"I don't dig on chubby boys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty!" _

He pushed thoughts of Kurt and the chiseled-jawed, sparkly-eyed hobbit he was always walking around with from his mind because they brought the painful realization that Santana was right. He was kind of in a specific league. He leaned back on his head rest and closed his eyes, trying to imagine the type of guy that would actually go for him, and not being satisfied with any of them. He figured that was the real problem with being gay. Guys were shallower than girls. He would know: he was one. He figured he'd always be judged for the way he looked.

"Oh my god, don't look so sad," Santana barked insensitively. "I'm sure you'll make some pimple-faced homo with bad teeth extremely happy someday." She put her cup in the cup holder and crossed her arms under her large, firm, breasts. Santana's breasts had always fascinated him, which was kind of confusing.

"And what if I end up with a girl?" He asked seriously. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, shaking her head. "I'm serious. Maybe I'll meet a girl who'll like me for my personality."

"Okay," She humored him, clearly agitated. "Even if you weren't as gay as a Christmas elf, standards would still apply."

"God damn it!" He smacked his steering wheel with both hands. "I'm so sick of every-one assuming I'm full-out gay!" No one ever even gave him a chance to sort through his own thoughts.

"For someone who's not gay, you've sure had more sex with Kurt than a straight boy should ever have."

Where the hell had she gotten that? "Are you kidding me?" Dave practically squealed. "Is that the rumor he's spreading?"

Santana shrugged, a mean smile spreading over her face. "That's the rumor I'll be spreading if you don't stop lying to me."

"You have to know that's not what happened…" Dave told her urgently. He'd never told her exactly what happened, but he knew she'd gotten a basic idea, which was enough.

"I know," She sighed. "Kurt's kind of out of your league too."

"Doesn't make a difference to me," Karofsky shrugged.

"I told you to stop lying, Donkey Kong," She always got creative when she really wanted to insult him. "I've got a working set of eyes, and they can see that you're totally gay for him!"

"Fine!" He snapped, attempting to compromise. "But I think I might still like girls too."

"Mother of…" She cursed under her breath. Out of nowhere, she pulled her shirt off. "You're gay and I'm going to prove it to you."

Karofsky stared at her cleavage, dumbstruck. He couldn't look away. That had to count for something. Santana quickly reached around to her back and un-hooked her bra, shimmying out of it. It seemed surreal to Dave, because he had never seen boobs before, not that he was sure if Santana's counted due to her…enhancement surgery. He was gripping the steering wheel, his mouth gaping slightly.

"Touch them." She sighed boredly. "Come on. You'll be glad you did."

Did he want to? The idea was oddly daunting to him. The possibility for disappointment was extremely threatening. Biting his lip nervously, he reached out and cupped the left one. He just sort of let his hand sit there. He didn't know if he should, like, squeeze it because that might hurt her and piss her off. He didn't know if he wanted to squeeze it. He pulled his hand away quickly and returned it to the wheel.

"This is stupid," He said dismissively. "I mean, it's not going to help. The situation doesn't work. It's too awkward."

"Excuses…" Santana mumbled, still exposed. Karofsky tried looking straight ahead, but his eyes kept inadvertently darting back to the Latina's puckered nipples. He really wished she would put her top back on so he could actually be comfortable looking at her as they spoke. "Do you want to make out with me?" She asked seductively.

"No." He shot back at her.

She laughed and picked her shirt up out of her lap, slipping it back on and flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Yeah…you're gay."

"It doesn't count…" Dave tried.

"No. It counts," She sighed. "It's not that you didn't want to touch them. Some guys, when they're caught off guard like that, refrain because they want to be honorable or some shit like that. However, you had your hand on my tit and you didn't even like it."

"Maybe if it was your real tit…" He tried.

"A tit's a tit, David," She sighed. "Whatever. They're not for everyone."

"I'm sorry, Santana," He sincerely apologized.

She just laughed again. "Why? It doesn't affect me that you're gay."

He didn't know why he was apologizing, but he did again anyway. "Just…sorry…"

"I'll cut you some slack," She said sarcastically. "But only because it's your birthday."

He nodded uncomfortably, and then went to turn his keys in the ignition. "I'm actually getting kind of tired. I'll take you home now."

"Fine by me," Santana told him. Then, after a minute she added, "I'll leave my bra in your car though. You can let daddy find it and tell him whatever story you want about how it really got here."

"Thank you," Dave mumbled. "I really appreciate it."


End file.
